Chapter 11
Fergus and Ludwin were sat at a long table, surrounded by berzerkeri and eating a great feast of various baked and grilled meats and breads, as well as more types of ale and mead than Ludwin had ever seen in his life.
Fergus was being welcomed home by the Cult of Gán after nearly a decade of absence. They were throwing a feast for him, because he was extremely well respected amongst the Cult of Gán. His position in the cult was extremely high up, nearly as high as the high priestess who was the matriarch of the entire group.
The matriarch, high priestess Isla, an older woman wearing a long, dark green dress with a black sash around her waist and various different bones and skulls covering her person, gently touched Fergus’s shoulder.
“It is so good to see you back, Fergus.”
Fergus smiled brightly.
“It’s good to be back, ma’am. Oh, this is my companion, Ludwin Albrecht.”
Ludwin waved at her.
“Hallo.”
He extended a hand out towards her.
“Ich Heisse Ludwin. Um, mein Orkneyisch is, not very good, but it is gut to meet you.”
She shook his hand and smiled.
“Of course, deary, do not worry, you sound completely fine.”
Ludwin smiled and took another sip of his ale. She turned her attention back to Fergus.
“So, Fergus, what brings you home?”
Ferugs finished chewing his chicken before speaking.
“I’m hoping to raise a warband, and I’m looking for Caelan McTavish.”
She smiled.
“I figured it was something like that. I am sure many of the men will be willing to join you, as will Caelan. However, before I allow that, you must do something first.”
Fergus nodded his head.
“Alright, who do I have to kill?”
Isla grinned.
“A man accused by the Þeirsemkoma of rape. Unfortunately, he is a Berzerkeri, and the Þeirsemkoma were not able to defeat him.”
Fergus stood and wiped the crumbs off of his shirt.
“Right, then where is he? And do you want it quick, or slow?”
Isla grinned.
“Slow.”
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Fergus and the accused man, a younger warrior named Tavish, stood in a ring created by the Cult of Gán for exactly this circumstance. Tavish did not look well, he was skinny and his cheeks were sunken. He was not wearing armor, in fact he was nearly naked as he was wearing just a loincloth, but he was armed with a sword and shield.
Serves him right for killing a woman’s soul.
Fergus was wearing his regular gear, and he was wielding his axe and knuckle knife. Tavish was shifting in his stance uncomfortably, while Fergus was standing still, stance loose and face relaxed. Isla threw a skull through the air, and as soon as it hit the ground Fergus launched himself at his foe.
Tavish thrust his arming sword around his shield, aiming for Fergus’s throat. Fergus ducked to the side and slashed his wrist, eliciting a grunt from his opponent. Tavish slashed at Fergus, who simply ducked and cut along his arm with his knife.
Fergus jumped and kneed Tavish’s shield, pushing him backwards. He knocked a thrust aside and hooked the man’s shield with his axe, tilting the shield forward before thrusting forward and breaking the man’s nose with the eye of his axe.
Tavish ignored the pain and slashed at Fergus, but he hit only air, and another trail of gore was traced across his forearm. He grunted angrily and bashed Fergus with his shield, knocking him back. By the time he began to chamber a thrust he realized his shield arm now had a slash in it, and both arms were bleeding profusely.
He thrust forward and Fergus caught the sword in the beard of his axe, wrenching it to the side and out of his hand. Tavish bashed with the shield and hit Fergus dead in the chest. He had no time to appreciate his hit, as Fergus’s knuckle knife was lodged in his bicep. Fergus pulled his knife through the man’s arms, causing him to scream and his arm to droop down.
He looked up and Fergus kneed him in the face, sending him reeling and slamming down on his back, smacking his head against the stone floor. He groaned weakly as he felt the life draining out of his arms, Fergus had managed to cut two arteries at his wrist.
Fergus crouched over the bleeding man and stuck his knife into the man’s thigh, causing him to groan loudly.
“You’re lucky I don’t stick this up your ass, rapist.”
Those were the last words the man heard as he slowly faded. After his eyes began to glaze over the crowd surrounding them cheered and ran over to lift Fergus in the air. The group carried Fergus to the mead hall, again, and set him down at the table.
“More wine! More mead! More beer! An evil soul has left our plane! Time to celebrate!”
The mead hall erupted in cheers and more food and drink were slammed down onto the table. As people began to dig in, people began to yell out drinking songs. The atmosphere was joyous and festive, the perfect place for Fergus to recruit.
“Lads! I have come here not to dispense justice, though that was a lot of fun, I’m here to recruit!”
The mead hall went quiet.
“I need men to fight in the Empire! Not sure exactly when the fighting will start, but fighting will start! And the cause is just! We are fighting to end the enslavement of the elven people! My partner Ludwin and I will be leaving tomorrow morning, any who wish to come will come then!”
The hall, again, erupted in cheers, the merriment audible for miles around.
A man sauntered over to Fergus. He was very tall, at least as tall as the Baron, and his skin was white as porcelain. His unkempt hair was auburn, the same color as Fergus, and his beard was long and braided into celtic knots. He wore a simple padded tunic over chainmail, the same thing every Berzerkeri wore. The thing which made him most notable, however, aside from his height was his skin.
It was dry and flakey, the flakes almost creating a serpent scale like pattern all across his body. It was a condition that, in Orkney society, was considered to be the mark of Jörmungandr. He was a Berzerkeri, but he also followed Jörmungandr the World Serpent who is said to have carved out the Orkney archipelago as he slithered through the land. He was a man twice blessed, a highly respected figure in Orkney society, though not as respected as Fergus, said to be the Avatar of Gán.
“Fergus. It has been far too long!”
Fergus jumped up and the two men embraced.
“I’m sure you know this already, but I’m with you to the end.”
The men ended their embrace.
“And beyond.”
Fergus smiled brightly.
“Of course, Caelan, never doubted you for a second.”
“So, our mission is going to be liberation?”
Fergus nodded.
“Yes, ending slavery in the Empire, emancipating the elves.”
Caelan slapped Fergus’s shoulder.
“Good to know I’ll be killing for a good cause.”
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Erich Wemhoff was traveling with his friends through the Dunkwald. They had a break from their studies and decided to visit Grössenburg.
They had enjoyed it somewhat, it was a massive metropolitan city much like Bickenstadt, but their enjoyment was tempered somewhat by the fact that they had to watch elves walking around in chains.
They were getting really into Enlightenment values as of late, and so seeing slavery happening in their homeland was horrifying to them, so they had left for home early.
“How can they just…keep people in chains?”
Erich’s friend shrugged.
“Well, it’s like the Baron said, they make a lot of money and they think they’re better than them.”
Erich shook his head.
“Still, don’t they like…feel bad about it? I couldn’t do it.”
Suddenly, they heard someone approaching behind them, the time between each footstep suggesting that they were moving fast, but the dragging sound indicated they were limping somewhat.
The group turned and saw a single person moving towards them, looking at the ground and dragging their leg behind them slightly as they ran. They wore ratty and falling apart clothing, a very simple shirt and pants made from canvas. And as they came closer, their features became clearer and clearer.
It was a woman with dirty, short, blond hair. Her face was sharp and angular, though very gaunt and sunken. She seemed to be taller than the average Imperial woman, and, most importantly, she had pointed ears.
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Around thirty feet away she looked up and saw the group, recoiling in terror before she fell to the ground. Erich immediately moved to check up on her, alongside his friends.
“By the gods are you ok?”
She was breathing hard, and her ankle looked angry and inflamed, most likely sprained. She was covered in cuts and bruises, likely from running through the incredibly dense Dunkwald.
She didn’t respond to his question, and she avoided looking at them at all. Her entire body was shaking with both exhaustion and fear, and her facial expression was one of complete despair. Erich knelt down to check her foot and she physically recoiled when his hand touched her leg.
“Please, calm down. I’m not here to hurt you. You look plenty banged up anyway.”
The group looked over her, finding that she was in very dire straits. As they tried to figure out what to do, a voice came from behind them.
“Hey! Have you men seen an elf running around here?”
He was wearing all black, and he had various ropes, sashes, and belts on his person, flowing around as he moved. He looked at their feet and found his mark.
“She ran away, along with her friends. Caught them a few days ago. Back up from her.”
The students looked at each other and slowly began to back up. He was a slave catcher, it was his job to catch runaway slaves. Erich glowered as he watched the man approach the elf, his back turned to them.
“Thought you could get away, huh Messerohr? It was a good try, but you sub-humans can only get so far by yourselves.”
He planted a foot on her chest, causing her to groan.
“You can only get so far without the guiding hand of the Übermensch.”
He intensified the pressure on the elf’s chest, causing her to cry out and writhe on the ground. Erich and his friends looked at each other, disgust clear on all of their faces. Something on the ground nearby caught Erich’s eye.
It was a rock, perfectly sized to be held in a single hand. He looked at the slave catcher with his back turned, then back to the rock. He looked at his friends, who all nodded their heads. He moved over and shakily picked up the rock, looking at it and breathing harder and harder as he considered what to do.
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Wolfgang was visibly shocked, while the Baron was visibly pleased.
They were in the audience hall of Bickenstadt castle, Baron on his sea-themed throne and Wolfgang off to the side of him. In front of them were five young men wearing student’s uniforms, and an elf woman wearing dirty clothing. Wolfgang began to speak, slowly.
“So…you say you have…found, a runaway elf?”
The students nodded, the elf looked at her feet.
“And you helped her come to Bickenstadt?”
The students nodded, and a second later the Baron spoke up.
“And did you encounter one of those bastard slave catchers?”
They all nodded again.
“Well, they are not the types to just allow an elf to get away with some students. How did you get her out of his clutches?”
The students were silent. The elf continued to look at her feet. The Baron smirked.
“I can’t imagine it was peaceful. Don’t worry, you can tell me what happened, I am a reasonable man, and willing to forgive some…disturbances of the legal Imperial process, depending on the reason.”
After around a dozen seconds, Erich gingerly spoke up.
“Um…I…um…”
The Baron gestured for him to continue.
“I grabbed a…uh…a r-rock.”
The Baron leaned forward with interest. He was grinning.
“Yes, and what did you do with said rock?”
“I…hit him…over the head...with...it.”
Wolfgang dropped his face into a hand, resting his elbow on the other arm crossed on his chest.
“Is he dead?”
Erich immediately responded, making a placating motion with his hands.
“No! No, he’s alive. I just, I knocked him out, I think.”
The Baron laughed loudly, and Wolfgang glared at him out of the corner of his eye. Erich and his friends looked shocked.
“Excellent! You gave a slave catcher a taste of his own medicine! Don’t worry boys, I will protect you from the fallout.”
They looked confused at the term 'fallout', while he looked directly at Erich.
“You’re that Wemhoff boy, yes? I’ve seen you at my lectures, and I believe I owe your father a favor anyways. So long as the slave catcher did not perish, you will not feel the consequences of this at all.”
Wolfgang fully glared at his father. The Baron turned towards his son and smiled.
“They have done a good thing, Wolfgang, I cannot in good conscience allow them to be punished for this.”
Wolfgang intensified his glare.
“Christ Almighty man-the boy saved someone from a life in chains. I don’t care what you or anyone else says about this, he did a righteous thing.”
Wolfgang thought about it for a moment before scoffing.
“Fine. You boys will be protected by us, we will pay for his medical expenses, and you will stay quiet about this. Understood?”
The students all nodded.
“Good. Now get back to your homes, or dorms, or where ever you stay while attending school here. We will handle the elf. Speaking of, what is your name, ma’am?”
The elf continued to look at her feet.
“E-e-eloise, sir.”
The Baron spoke.
“Well then, Eloise, how would you like to go home?”
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Freiderick Fabersonne, a nobleman on the lower end of high society, approached the Baron’s throne.
“Baron von Bickenstadt, I have heard that an escaped slave has come here, and you have refused to return them.”
The Baron nodded.
“Yes, that is correct.”
“May I ask why?”
The Baron smiled.
“Because they’re a free elf now. I cannnot in good conscience return a free person to bondage.”
Fabersonne was shocked, though he didn’t let it show on his face.
“Herr Baron, I am sure you know this but I will say it anyway, you have a responsibility to return to me my property.”
The Baron’s smile widened.
“Well, seeing as the only thing I have received is a person, I have no property to return to you.”
Fabersonne frowned.
“Baron, with all due respect, what are you trying to do?”
“I am trying to keep good people out of the hands of bad people, people like you. Slavers. Coming in here, tracking dirt across my floor, asking me to re-enslave someone, unbelievable. The gall.”
Fabersonne spoke, much more forceful than before.
“Baron my employee was struck on the back of the head by one of your students.”
“I see no evidence of this, why should I just take you at your word? Why should I take a slave catcher at their word? How do we know he didn’t just lose track of her and report a head injury? Also, I notice your usage of ‘they’ when referring to her. You have no idea who this person even is, don’t you? Aside from being your…”
The Baron raised his hands and made air quotes.
“‘Property’”
Fabersonne couldn’t stop the displeasure and shock from showing on his face. He had not considered that the Baron might say no.
“Sir, again with all due respect, this is illegal. You are functionally stealing from me.”
The Baron grinned cruelly.
“Take me to Imperial court, then. Try to legally extract them from me. You only have a few days, they’re leaving for home soon.”
“Leaving for home-what are you saying? Do you have contacts with elves?”
The Baron waved his hand dismissively.
“Oh no, nothing like that. They’re just going to sail themselves home.”
Fabersonne got the impression that the Baron was lying, because that was a horrifically stupid plan.
“Baron, wha-”
The Baron cut him off.
“I believe I have made myself clear. You will not be getting her back, and that is final.”
Fabersonne opened his mouth to speak and the Baron cut him off again.
“Go complain to the Empress, or to a newspaper, maybe they’ll have better luck getting me to change my mind.”
The Baron checked his nails.
“Most likely not.”
He looked up over his nails.
“You can go take your slaver ass back to Grössenburg and live in fear of more slaves running away. Because they will. Good day.”
The Baron got up from his throne and left through the door behind it. Freiderick Fabersonne just stood in the audience hall, completely in shock.
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“Hot off the presses! The baron von Bickenstadt refuses to return runaway slaves! He says any slave who enters his province is freed!”
A young boy yelled at the top of his lungs in Ersatzplatz, the most active shopping district in Grössenburg.
He was paid a whole twenty Reiksgeld to distribute newspapers by some men from out of town who settled in Grössenburg and created their own company not too long ago.
“This just in! The Baron announces Bickenstadt is a quote, ‘safe haven from slavery!’ Read all about it here just two Reiksgeld a piece!”
A man walked over and handed the boy two Reiksgeld before taking a paper. The boy smiled brightly, the men he worked with were allowing him to keep half of his sales, a rate nearly unheard of for newspaper boys.
“Huge news coming out of Bickenstadt! Read all about it!”
He looked around the square and saw a few elven slaves looking at him with a mixture of fear and interest.
They don’t have any money, right? But I mean, this is about them, I think the guys I work for would want me to give them a paper? They seem nice on elves.
The boy walked over and offered one of the elves a paper. The elf looked at him confusedly.
“I think my bosses would want you to have one? It sounded like they did. Here, take it. Just remember that Erik gave it to you!”
The elf gingerly took the newspaper and slowly began to read through it.
The boy smiled and went back to crying out for people to buy his newspaper. He had just landed himself another four Reiksgeld when he heard a commotion behind him. He turned and saw the elf he had given the paper to on the ground, being hit with a cane by a man who looked rich.
“Never take another newspaper or I will sell you to someone else, separate from your family!”
The elf was crying and begging for forgiveness, but the man simply continued to beat them with his cane. The boy was a little shaken.
Is that…my fault?
The rich man stepped on the newspaper and smeared mud all over it. The boy ran over to him.
“Hey! Hey! That’s my paper!”
The man turned and looked down his nose at the boy.
“Who is giving you such drivel to sell? They should be ashamed of themselves! This is highly irresponsible!”
He approached the boy and bent down, grabbing his shoulders roughly.
“Who printed these, huh? Tell me boy!”
The boy was scared. He didn’t think the man would get physical with him, but he knew that a rich man could essentially do whatever he wanted to a poor street urchin if they displeased him.
“Uh-uh-uh, they’re on 127th in Hergzehnplatz, that’s all I know! I didn’t ask about their names!”
The rich man looked confused.
“You work for someone without knowing who they are?”
The boy nodded emphatically.
“Yes sir! Honest!”
The rich man took a second to think before releasing the boy and dropping a small baggie of Reiksgeld at his feet.
“Thank you, boy. Run along now, I'll buy the rest of your stock. Don’t sell those damned papers.”
He turned and rushed to his carriage.
“Driver, bring me to the Empress’s castle! I need to have a word with her!”